


Candy Girl

by Paeng



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 03:50:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7418695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeng/pseuds/Paeng
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kikuchii Tomoe was not ashamed to admit she was envious of people like Marui. Unlike her who used candy as means to start a conversation, all Marui had to do was show up and people would flock to him like he was Jesus. — MaruiOC</p>
            </blockquote>





	Candy Girl

Kikuchii Tomoe was Class I-C's 'Candy Girl'.

Of all possible identifiers, it irked her how they settled with such a tasteless moniker. Why couldn't they have referred to her as 'Tomoe the Great' or 'Little Miss Sunshine'? Whenever she would hear the nickname whispered in passing in between subjects, her only consolation was that at least they didn't call her 'Bucktooth' or 'The Girl Who Lives Under a Rock'. So maybe she wasn't the most socially-adept person around—what with her inability to keep up with her female classmates' inclination to yap about the new music releases and (surprise, surprise!) boys—but that didn't mean she was completely averse to social interactions.

In fact, every morning she would make it a point to greet everyone she happened to pass on the way to her seat. At first, conversations were a little too stunted to her liking. "It's so hot today, isn't it?" or "Can I take a peek at your History essay, Kikuchii?" were as far as her usual conversations would go—if they could even be called conversations—ever since her friends had chattered about Beyonce's latest music video, and she had unwittingly asked, "What's a Beyonce?"

She was the laughing stock of the class for a week.

Albeit her nil knowledge on pop culture, she was proud to say she was companionable in those rare moments of silence, or whenever a friend needed someone to rant to—her company was more preferable than a brick wall or a body pillow, she would like to believe. And in instances when she had absolutely nothing to contribute to a conversation which was, sad to say, often, popping candy in her mouth usually kept her from spouting any more brainless comments, "Oh, Hunger Games. Is it that movie where they compete over who finishes their food the fastest?" that were hilariously offensive to her friends. Candy has become a crucial part of her day; no day was ever deemed 'good' without the taste of sugar on her tongue. Maybe it had something to do with how the taste buds were wired to that part of the brain that made someone feel good? Or something. Science had never been her forte.

In any case, it was a habit she picked up over the year, and it can all be attributed to her anxiety over entrance examinations. She distinctly remembered the halls were fraught with tension, and the sounds of pen on paper and pages flipping were the only things that permeated the quiet. The explosion of peppermint in her mouth had helped ease her nerves as she read through long passages and computed for the value of x. When she passed Rikkai—the exam she was so sure she was going to flunk out of all the High School entrance examinations she took—the aisle of sweets in 7-eleven wasn't just another aisle anymore.

It was salvation.

Candy equals better-performing Kikuchii, equals good news, equals kissing her anxiety goodbye.

From then on, candy always had its desired calming effect. If anyone cared to look inside her school bag, she would always have a stash hidden underneath her notebooks. Fortunately, its usefulness in her everyday school life was not limited to its ability to alleviate her anxiety: it was the key in her conquest in making friends.

Having a doting university professor teaching History for a father, her childhood pretty much consisted of thick textbooks on the very foundations that brought Japan to its present greatness, as well as documentaries on prominent historical figures—like Tomoe Gozen, her famous namesake—on loop in the living room plasma. Conversations over meals were usually about the upcoming elections or a financial crisis in some distant part of the world. Never mind that she had been an eleven-year-old dying to go see that movie everyone had been talking about after school.

Her mother, on her part, was a tad too protective and had refrained her from playing with the neighborhood kids because of an episode of hand-foot-mouth disease when she was a toddler. She remembered watching her neighbors play hide-and-seek from her bedroom window, an ugly mixture of jealousy and resentment churning at the pits of her stomach. Her mother's pigheaded refusal to get her a cellphone or a laptop until High School didn't help either—said that she was too "young" to be exposed to all sorts of "evil".

She knew better, but honored her mother's request. Because truthfully she didn't have the guts to go against her word. Had her attempts at rebellion been discovered, she wouldn't have had the stamina to endure long-winding diatribes, and it was just so much of a hassle. So instead of ogling boy bands and gushing over the latest superhero movies like her peers, she pored over every available source of entertainment at home. There really wasn't much to begin with, except the stockpile of references that was a little piece of heaven to her father's university students working on their dissertations.

Which explained a lot about her utter lack of success in her pursuit to belong.

Over time, she had come to accept that she would always be the girl unwillingly pushed into the periphery—simply watching, listening, and bidding her time in conversations. But if she were patient enough, and she usually was, the conversation would eventually lull into a state of awkwardness, then her golden opportunity would arise.

"Want some?" she would ask, brandishing a packet of Skittles or M&Ms.

It was a tedious process. Making friends, that is.

But through sheer effort and persistence, her classmates eventually warmed up to her. With her stash of candy ready, she was the perfect go-to when someone had lapses of hypoglycemia, or when a boost of glucose was necessary to sustain oneself during stressful examinations. Class I-C didn't have to worry about shelling out a portion of their allowance to get high on sugar. Need something sweet to get rid of the aftertaste of bitter gourd? Or perhaps something to satisfy your craving? For free?

She was your girl. Your 'Candy Girl'.

o o o

Kikuchii's mind was almost always on overdrive, as if to compensate for the rarity of words that came out of her mouth.

Every day, whether she was lying in her bed or listening to lectures, a dozen thoughts whirred ceaselessly in her head. She had always been overly sensitive to surrounding stimuli, becoming privy to the strong odor of her History teacher's cologne ("He must still be wooing Fujiwara-sensei," she thought), the high-pitched inflection in Amane's speech whenever she talked to her seatmate, Niou ("She likes him," she mused), or the way her said seatmate's gaze was colder than usual that hell would have frozen over ("Hmm…" she paused, stumped with Niou, as always).

Although she was quiet as Amane tirelessly babbled, hopping from one topic to another, Kikuchii was ready even before her friend's chatter gradually slowed to a stop.

"Kikuchii."

She had her arsenal laid out on her desk—a box of grape-flavored Nerds, apple-flavored bubblegum, and Tic Tac.

"No watermelon?" Amane whined, referring to the box of Nerds.

"Fujioka-san finished it all yesterday."

"Damn," was all Amane said, before she resumed her talk about this super cool boy band 'B.A.P' and, "Oh my god, have you seen Daehyun's latest post? He is so hot," to a classmate, who was simultaneously perusing the said artist's Instagram account.

To Kikuchii's credit, there was an attempt to connect before the conversation bordered on full-throttle fangirling. After shoving her cellphone under her desk, typing in B-A-P on Google, and browsing through some articles, Kikuchii was able to procure bits of information that permitted participation, albeit minimal,

"…They're called 'Best Absolute Perfect'?"

"Because they're the best, absolutely talented, and perfectly handsome!"

She appreciated Amane's thorough explanation of the k-pop group, but about halfway through the conversation, Kikuchii's thoughts wandered. This happened a lot (deviating, that is) in spite of her genuine curiosity, as she pondered over the sudden boom of the so-called 'Korean Wave' and whether it was the Republic of South Korea's attempt to get back at them for the hundreds of thousands of women that were forced to serve the Imperial Japanese Army during the colonial period. Amane would have gone berserk had she mentioned the bad blood; more so, it would have given away her inattentiveness, so Kikuchii simply shut her mouth and ate her Nerds in silence.

"Uwaaa~ He sat with Sanada today. What a pity."

The change in topic caught her attention, and following Amane's gaze, she became aware of the small group seated a few tables away. It was raining, so a lot of their classmates have decided to eat their lunch indoors. Majority of the freshmen didn't want to engage in a full-out brawl for food with the bigger, scarier upperclassmen in the cafeteria, so she wasn't surprised to see the other members of the tennis club surrounding Sanada's table.

All thoughts about the Korean Wave and Japanese-Korean relations aside, Kikuchii watched them with mild interest. They were a popular bunch, mainly because they were associated with the highly-esteemed athletic club, the pinnacle of popularity in Rikkai. Had they been normal students stripped off the perks of being a jock, however, Kikuchii was certain they would still have been popular in their own right. Of particular interest was a certain red-head, who was currently talking to Amane (she must have been so absorbed with her thoughts that she failed to notice her sauntering off to the other side of the room, the traitor!)

"Yeah, I didn't think he would kill him right off the bat! But it was pretty cool, huh?" Marui agreed heartily. They were talking about this foreign show that was apparently super popular almost everyone (sans her, no surprise here) in the room knew about it, and explosive bouts of chatter and laughter had followed suit.

Kikuchii was not ashamed to admit she was envious of people like Marui.

Marui was a frequent visitor of their class because of Niou. In the rare times Niou would be in their classroom during lunch, Marui and Jackal would always be seen sticking around her general vicinity. In the guise of reading her favorite paperback, she would listen in on their hilarious conversations, and it would almost always take all of her willpower to suppress even the softest snort. But even during the days Niou would go awol, Kikuchii bore witness to Marui's genius.

Unlike Kikuchii who had to use candy as means to start a conversation, all Marui had to do was show up and people would flock to him. Like he was Jesus.

At first, she thought it was his eye-catching hair color. But after a while she figured she could list a hundred people who were popular that didn't even dye their hair. The Tennis Club was a definite boost to his popularity, but even without it he would still popular. Was it his vast knowledge on the latest TV shows, manga updates, and songs? His looks? He was pretty average-looking beside Yukimura and Niou. Or perhaps it was his general niceness?

"Oh, you can ask Kikuchii!"

She was thrown off her train of thought. ("What.")

Marui was suddenly standing right in front of her desk, and he was looking right at her.

"Hi, Amane said you have gum." It was posed as a statement, but the question was left hanging in the air. "I ran out, and I was wondering if I could have some?"

"Sure," she squeaked almost a little too enthusiastically, and handed him the apple-flavored one on her desk. When he was about to return the pack, she pushed his hand back, "You can have it."

"What." He genuinely looked surprised. "You're giving this all away?"

He made it sound like she just committed bloody murder.

"Yeah, I have plenty more at home."

He brightened. "Haa~ No take backs, okay? You're a lifesaver." Then he added playfully, "If the stores happen to run out, I'll know who to blame."

"You can't blame me for your lack of foresight, Marui-san."

Marui laughed, and she couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

o o o

Kikuchii didn't know what to make out of her unlikely friendship with Marui.

It was lunchtime, and the red-head's attention was zeroed in on this YouTube video he was watching alongside several other boys from her class. It was now commonplace for Marui to drop by Class I-C several times a week, if not to eat lunch with the other tennis club members or return a borrowed CD or manga, would simply bugger the hell out of Niou, who usually would disappear without a trace once the lunch bell rang. While Amane was out buying strawberry milk for the both of them, Kikuchii had her History book propped open on her desk and was trying to read through the passages that would serve as reference to their fast-approaching presentation. Niou, her project partner, had his head buried in his arms, snoozing.

Despite her eyes on the text, her attention was elsewhere.

"Kikuchii."

The apple-flavored bubblegum which had been sitting daintily at the edges of her History book disappeared from her line of vision.

"The store ran out again," Marui said, then returned the pack on her desk. "Thank you."

She merely nodded in acknowledgement before returning to the page she was reading, or rather, pretending to read. A moment of silence passed, and looking up, she was surprised to see Marui sitting on the seat right in front of Niou's and hers. He twisted on the chair, facing her general direction while nonchalantly chewing on his gum.

She could feel the telltales of a blush coming as Marui simply looked at her, scrutinizing, like she was an ancient relic in a museum.

"Why do you let him slack off?" he asked, pertaining to the sleeping Niou. "Do you want me to smack him for you?"

"No," she sputtered, alarmed, which only seemed to amuse Marui. "He's done his part, so it's my turn to do the work now."

Marui shrugged and rested his chin atop the back of the chair. They lapsed into a companionable silence, with Marui staring blankly at the pages of her book and Kikuchii running a mental list of all the things she wanted to talk with him about, but couldn't because she didn't trust her mouth one bit and had no intentions of embarrassing herself in front of Marui, the king of pop culture in her eyes—of all people.

("I just listened to ORANGE RANGE's latest album, and I love it.)

She's been staring at the same page, the same sentence since lunch started.

("The Pirates of the Caribbean was on HBO last night. My mom switched it to her drama even before Davy Jones got his heart back.")

Gods, Marui must think she was an absolute bore, what with her nose buried in the pages of their History book and him just sitting there. When she finally decided to flip her book close, Amane had returned from buying strawberry milk and had already engaged Marui in conversation about this new app she downloaded on her iPhone.

Kikuchii tucked her History book away and passed on her notes to Niou's table, ignoring the heaviness at the pits of her stomach.

When third period was about to start, Marui slipped back to her seat to help himself to another strip of bubblegum, then ruffled her hair when she looked at him sadly (which was in fact due to her inability to strike up conversation, but Marui didn't see it that way). As he finally headed for the door, Kikuchii could not help but watch as the rest of her class bid him farewell, like he was some sort of rock star or something.

"He's not going to eat you alive when you talk to him."

Niou was in an upright position on his chair (their next subject was Mathematics, so of course he would be awake) and was browsing through the notes she had passed him a few minutes earlier. He suddenly held up a piece of grid paper in his left hand, and upon closer look, Kikuchii could make out 'Check out: Orange Range's 'Hana', Marvel's 'The Avengers', Baby Metal, Pirates of the Caribbean and a few others written in sloppy handwriting.

Her seatmate only smirked when she grabbed the paper, crumpled it, and stashed it inside her pocket.

.

.

.

Kikuchii received a mysterious package on her birthday.

It was a medium-sized box wrapped in newspaper, delivered at their doorstep. There was no fancy wrapping or ribbons that would indicate it was a birthday present at all, had it not been for the small card attached to a side using scotch tape. The message read:

Bought these from the 7-Eleven at the corner of Rikkai, as well as the ones near the station. He frequents those. Use it well. – Your friendly neighbor

She was pretty quick on the uptake. She immediately recognized Niou's neat slanted writing probably penned in his favorite g-tech pen. When she unwrapped the cardboard box, about a dozen smaller boxes of a familiar brand of apple-flavored bubblegum filled it to the brim. She sat butt-flat on the floor, her mind reeling. If she were to follow Niou's line of thinking, assuming that 'he' means Marui…

She grabbed her coat, put on her shoes, and screamed, "I'll be out for a while to buy something in the convenience store! Do you want anything?"

Her mother screamed right back, "No! Take care!" from the kitchen. Kikuchii did not waste another moment and headed to the 7-Elevens indicated in the message.

The apple-flavored bubblegum was sold out in all branches.

.

.

.

Kikuchii counted—twelve times Marui had called out to her that week.

"Kikuchii."

She would hand him a stick.

He would take it gratefully and sit beside her in silence. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. All because of that damned apple-flavored bubblegum.

.

.

.

"Kikuchiiiiiii!"

("Damn you, Niou-san.")

.

.

.

Kikuchii finally learned the secret to Marui's popularity.

Even if the tennis team was already primed for the championship in the District Preliminaries, practice was more rigorous than usual—or rather, because practice was always rigorous, the tennis team was bound to become the champions. She was on the bleachers, her dSLR camera fit perfectly in her slender fingers, as she adjusted the lens and took the shots—she had been assigned to cover the club's preparations for the Nationals. Her eyebrows furrowed as she assessed the snaps of Marui's swings on the screen, softly admonishing herself because her pictures did not give justice to the beauty of his volleys.

A flock of girls had crowded near the courts where he was currently having a doubles match against the seniors. Freshmen were supposedly limited to picking up balls and practicing their swings, but with Yukimura's lot, which included Marui, there seemed to be an exception. The game was at a standstill, what with the seniors' aggressive play and the Marui-Jackal pair seemingly holding their own.

Marui was fearless in the courts. There was a steady assurance in his serves, and an added flair whenever he hit his perfect volleys. His techniques were topnotch, bordering on breathtaking, but above all, he was clearly enjoying himself that Kikuchii could not help but lose herself a little as she cushioned her camera on her lap and enjoyed the match for what it's worth. Although Marui and Jackal lost to the seniors with a score of 7-5, the red-head smiled and pumped his fist in the air, to his supporters' relief.

Marui radiated confidence.

Whereas most of the members fumbled through their routine, he breezed through it with practiced ease. She watched Marui assist his teammates as they did their stretches, saw how the rest of the freshmen seemed to hang onto his every word as he pitched in his two cents' about their form. She figured a wave of envy would always resurface whenever she watched him in a crowd—with him at the center—but this time, there was also a hint of something foreign, something she could not put a finger on.

"Kikuchii!"

It was water break.

She had secretly wondered when Marui would notice her, and she reveled in the way he smiled as he ascended the bleachers. Even without his prompt, she had a stick of gum ready for taking. He took it. Wordlessly, he sat beside her on the bleachers, unwrapped it with deft fingers, then began to chew in silence.

This was routine.

"Did you come to watch me play?" He glanced at her, expectant.

"I came to watch all of you play." She tapped the camera on her lap. "It's for the paper."

"Hmph, you're no fun," he muttered, popping his gum.

She watched Marui from the corner of her eye, liked how close he was sitting from her that their thighs were barely touching. Because he was leaning forward, the arms atop his knees supporting his weight, she could see the beads of sweat trickling down his nape. His hair was much longer than it was the start of the year, the ends almost reaching his shoulders. But she said nothing—even if she wanted to comb her fingers through his silky hair and tie it in a neat ponytail—and it was only then she felt a surge of aggravation at her cowardice.

"I have to go." He turned to her. "Thanks for the gum, Kikuchii."

When he stood up, something had fallen out of his pocket.

"Marui-san, you dropped something."

She reached for the item.

It was the same apple-flavored bubblegum, only it was completely sealed. She stared at the pack she had just given him, the one enclosed in his fist.

Marui's face was as red as his hair.

"Ahh~" That must have been the only time she saw him at a loss for words. "You got me."

Marui was a leech. A leech who made her feel like mush—like that strawberry pudding Amane got her during lunch. All jiggly and wobbly. The warmth in her cheeks was a reflection of the faint traces of red dusting Marui's cheeks, his blush oddly uncharacteristic and discomfiting but at the same time, utterly satisfying.

"Are you mad?"

This only prompted her to close the distance between them, as she brandished the gum on her palm. No, of course, she wasn't mad. Only overwhelmed with the stream of thoughts and questions ("WHY?") running through her head. Exhaling, she resolved to shut it all out. He must have seen his affect when she smiled slightly at him, and there was comfort in seeing him mirror the gesture, albeit more beatifically.

"Did you know that skeptics argue that the Flying Dutchman is but a superior mirage seen at sea?"

("Wow, Kikuchii. Of all things—")

"Ahh, really?" He grinned. "But where's the fun in that? A haunted ship cursed to travel the seas forever is much more exciting," Marui regained his usual confidence, as if it had never left him. Then he schooled his expression into something more serious as his hand enclosed her open palm, and he whispered, "I have to go now or else captain will have my head. But can you hold onto this for me?"

She only looked at him searchingly.

"I would have finished your pack when practice ends," was his only explanation. "Can you hold onto mine until then?" he repeated. "I'll need it."

("Okay.")

"I'll find you," he assured, grinning, when she did not respond.

There was no hesitation this time as she boldly threaded their fingers together, the pack of gum enclosed within their joined hands.

"I'm sure you will."


End file.
